


A Prayer (to the Goddess in the Parlor)

by MinervaFan



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Abuse, Feminism, Gen, Misogyny, Revenge, Sibling Rivalry, faith - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 23:07:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18647980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaFan/pseuds/MinervaFan
Summary: Hilda has never been particularly faithful or devout, but sometimes a prayer is in order.





	A Prayer (to the Goddess in the Parlor)

**Author's Note:**

> Quick little fic in my new obsessive fandom. Hilda is a goddess in her own right.

Hi there.

It's me.

Praying...to you.

It's strange though, isn't it? Zelds has always been the devout one in the family.

Granted, I've spent my fair share of time in the forest, signed the Dark Book and all like a good little witch, but Zelds? Zelds is the one who really bought it, don't you know?

You could see it in her eyes. I remember being a little kid, oh, a few hundred years or so ago, and thinking, she'd just go to the Dark Lord right now if she was given a chance. I didn't get it. I was always too selfish, too interested in my own self to be that unholy.

And here I am, praying like a regular devotee.

Course, I'm praying to you, aren't I? That's strange, too, praying to someone who's actually been in your own parlor. We're the Church of Lilith, now, and frankly, I really think I can get behind this.

We say we're better than the mortals, and in some ways I think it's true. But I've lived through First Wave, Second Wave, Third Wave--a whole hurricane of feminist movements--and frankly, to me, the mortal world and the witch world never looked that different from this side of the x-chromosome.

But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?

You wrote that book, Mother. You starred in the first draft.

Here we are, thousands of years since, and we haven't gotten any better of it, have we?

Which is why I'm calling...praying...whatever it is you do to a goddess with whom you've had tea and cakes.

It's Zelds. I'm worried about Zelds. There, I've said it. Out loud (ok, in my head, to you, as a prayer, but still I've said it.)

Yeah, we fight. You don't spend centuries with a woman like Zelda without developing a tough skin. She's hard, and difficult, and she's got more than a teensy smattering of arrogance running through her veins.

But she's my sister, and she's hurting.

She doesn't talk about him.

You know... _him_. That man she married.

You knew him, I'm sure you did. Can't imagine you wouldn't, as you were both serving the Dark Lord.

And you know what he did. You have to know about the Caligari Spell he put on her.

She doesn't talk about it, Mother Lilith. She won't even speak of her feelings about what happened, but you and I both know what that sort of spell would do to a woman like my sister. And we both know why he did it.

Sometimes I think it's lucky, not being a beauty in this world. When you look like me in a world of Zeldas, you gain a certain sort of freedom. You become blissfully invisible, and the world just forgets you're there.

But men like women like Zelda, if only for the chance to break them. If only for the chance to dominate them, and not in the fun "whips and chains" kind of way.

She says she never loved him, but I'm not so sure. I know my sister. I know there was a part of her who did.

And he _used_ that. He used her ambition, her strength, her beauty, her devotion.

He used the parts of her that make her so special, and he twisted them to his own needs.

He tortured her and humiliated her.

Mother Lilith, I know we're still a new faith, and that you must have quite a bit on your plate at the moment. But, I pray to you. I urge you. I _beseech_ you.

Bring down your wrath on the head of Faustus Blackwood for his crimes against my sister and for his crimes against women.

Bring down the mighty weight of all the women who have suffered under the hands of weak, pathetic, jealous men, from the False God forward, and drop it squarely on him.

With no mercy.

With no redemption.

With no escape.

I ask this in your holy name,

Hilda Spellman

P.S. We'd love it if you stopped by for tea on Saturday. Sabrina and her friends will be over, and they'd love to see you. Ta!


End file.
